Friday, July 11, 2014

Get carried away in Vietnam

Vietnam is always on the move, from speeding scooters in its
crowded cities to the gently cruising junks in Halong Bay. Follow our
adventure by boat, bus and plane - and, if you're feeling brave, hop on a
scooter taxi, too.

From
the island-studded seas of the north to the meandering waterways of the
south, Vietnam is defined by the diversity of its land and the
resilience and generosity of its people.

Halong Bay - Best for coast

Halong City is roughly a three-hour drive east of Hanoi by bus along Highway 18. From here, cruises for Halong Bay depart from Bai Chay.

Once,
a friendly dragon lived in the heavens above Halong Bay. With invaders
from the seas threatening Vietnam, the gods asked the dragon to create a
natural barrier to protect its people.

The
dragon kindly obliged, performing a spectacular crash-landing along the
coast, digging up chunks of rock with its flailing tail and spitting
out pearls before grinding to a halt.

This
scene of devastation is now known as Halong Bay (Halong translates as
"where the dragon descends into the sea"). Less exciting explanations of
this landscape involve aeons of erosion by winds and waves but no one
disputes the splendour of the end result.

Rising
from the shallows of the Gulf of Tonkin are thousands of limestone
islands - towering monoliths lined up like dominos, some teetering at
worrying angles.

"In Vietnamese culture, dragons are the protectors
of people," explains Vo Tan, a guide who has been bringing people to
Halong Bay for two decades. "I once saw a picture of Halong Bay taken
from above, and it even looked a bit like a dragon."

Sailing
into Halong Bay, it's easy to understand the hallucinatory effect these
strange shapes can have. The islands' names are testament to the
overactive imaginations of sailors who've spent too long at sea -
Fighting Cock Island, Finger Island, Virgin Grotto (which is said to
contain a rock in the shape of a beautiful woman).
Having largely
resisted human settlement, the islands have become home to other
creatures. From above, sea eagles swoop down to pluck fish from the
waters, carrying their prey, still flapping, high into the air,
squawking congratulations to each other.
Below, countless jellyfish drift in the hollows beneath the cliffs.
A
local legend tells of another, more sinister creature lurking in the
waters of Halong Bay. A gigantic sea snake and close cousin of the Loch
Ness Monster, the Tarasque was seen on three occasions by 19th-century
French sailors, with sightings sporadically reported in Vietnam's
tabloids since.
I ask Tan who would win in a battle between the Tarasque and Halong Bay's famous dragon.
"Of course the dragon would win," he grins. "In Vietnamese stories, the good guys are never allowed to lose."-- Where to stay and eat
Most
visitors to Halong Bay arrive as part of an organised tour sailing from
Halong City. Bien Ngoc offers a spectrum of day trips and overnight
tours, with many itineraries including Titop, an island with outstanding
views of the bay.

Hanoi - Best for city life

Regular buses run from Halong City to Hanoi and the journey takes about three hours.
It's
rush hour in Hanoi and the streets of the city's old quarter are
thronged with hundreds of scooters. The pavement and the central
reservation are fair game in the chaos; zebra crossings exist more as a
personal challenge than a guarantee of safe passage.
These are
streets where Evel Knievel might have written the highway code; where a
grandma on a scooter will think nothing of driving headlong into a
oncoming traffic.
Hanoi
is a city that refuses to grow old gracefully - a millennium-old
capital of crumbling pagodas and labyrinthine streets, now undergoing a
transformation into a 21st-century Asian metropolis. In the old quarter,
ancient temples neighbour karaoke joints and dynasties of artisans ply
their trade next to shops selling cuddly toys the size of grizzly bears.
Hanoi is a city that muddles past and present, where a statue of Lenin
raises a clenched fist to teenagers who skateboard past him every
afternoon.
Few have studied the changing face of the city as
closely as Do Hien, an artist who has spent a lifetime painting Hanoi's
streets. He welcomes me to his studio and idly leafs through sketches of
city life - couples waltzing beside the willows of Hoan Kiem Lake and
alleyways where hawkers prepare steaming bowls of pho.
"Hanoi is a
place that runs in your blood," Hien says thoughtfully, sitting among
stubs of incense sticks and paintbrushes strewn across his floor.
"Had I not lived in this city I might not be able to paint like I do."
There
are reminders of darker chapters in Hanoi's past among Hien's
collection. He began his career as a Viet Cong propaganda artist,
applying brushstrokes in between dashing off to fight the Americans
during the Vietnam War. He witnessed the bombing of his hometown during
Christmas 1972.
He shows me propaganda prints of anti-aircraft
guns firing into skies above the city and a giant Vietnamese soldier
grabbing an American B-52 bomber from the air with his bare hands, King
Kong style. Today, posters like these are in much demand among
collectors yet Hien struggles to paint with the ferocity of his younger
years.
"I can copy these posters technically, but I don't have
the right kind of spirit," he says. "I try to remember what I was
feeling, but I don't have the same anger any more."
Like Hien's artwork, Hanoi, too, has moved on.
Hanging
beside his front door is an oil painting of Long Bien Bridge - to
many locals, the bridge is the enduring symbol of Hanoi's resilience.
Blown
to pieces by American bombs 40 years ago, the bridge has been patched
up and repaired. It now creaks under the weight of so many scooters.-- Where to eat
Little
Hanoi offers good-value noodle and rice dishes in an atmospheric dining
room where birdcages dangle from the ceiling (9 Ta Hien street).-- Where to stay
The
Sofitel Legend Metropole dates back to French colonial rule over
Vietnam, with interiors that feature smoky wooden floors, glittering
chandeliers and whirring ceiling fans. Guests can also explore a
rediscovered bunker, where staff and residents sheltered during the
bombing of Hanoi in 1972.

Overnight sleeper trains run the eight-hour trip from Hanoi to Lao Cai, near Sapa.
An
evening fog hangs over Sapa - a dense, B-movie fog, mingling with
smoke rising from bonfires on the valley floor. The clouds sporadically
open up to reveal a village, a chunk of a mountain, a patch of jungle,
before obscuring them from view again, like stage scenery sliding into
the wings.
Eventually the clouds lift, and the Hoang Lien
mountain range emerges. It is a landscape of extraordinary beauty the
Asian highlands half-remembered from childhood picture books and martial
arts films. Above are peaks thick to their summits with greenery.
Below, rice terraces run down the hillsides at right angles, as neat as
the folds in origami paper.
Here and there, water buffalo stumble
about rice paddies, chomping on foliage or looking up to offer gormless
looks to passers-by.
In Sapa, the weather seems to operate on
random rotation, switching between brilliant sunshine, thick fog,
driving rain and occasionally a dusting of snow, before coming full
circle to brilliant sunshine, often all within the space of a few
minutes. A hill station settled by Vietnam's French colonists, Sapa now
serves as a trailhead for hikers happy to enter the meteorological
lottery of a walk in these mountains.
"We have four seasons in
one day here," explains Giang Thi Mo, my guide, shimmying along the edge
of a rice paddy as a rain cloud approaches. "There's no way to predict
the weather - just be lucky!"
Mo may live in Vietnam, but she
considers herself first and foremost a member of the Black Hmong - a
hill-tribe originally from southern China who sought refuge in these
mountains centuries ago. Black Hmong is just one of 53 minority groups
in Vietnam, many of whom inhabit the country's highlands. Walking in
these valleys entails packing a different phrasebook for every hour of
the trek.
Close by are communities of Red Dzao, White Thai, Lu and
Giay - all tribes with cultures, languages and dress distinct from
those of lowland Vietnam.
We pass through a village, and Mo
points to bamboo irrigation systems that send trickles down into rice
pounders that see-saw with the current.
"There's a Hmong saying that we flow with the water," she explains. "It means we don't worry too much and take things easy."
Dusk
begins to settle on the mountains. Bonfires are extinguished and water
buffalo herded homewards. The villagers around Sapa have an early
bedtime. Very soon the valleys are engulfed in a profound stillness.
The
blinking lights of fireflies cartwheel about in the gloom for a short
while before disappearing from view, presumably lost in another thick
fog.-- Where to stay and eat
Set over
rice terraces a short drive outside Sapa, the Hmong Mountain Retreat has
small guest bungalows made from bamboo and thatched with palm. Set
dinners, which are often vegetarian, are served in a traditional Hmong
house nearby. The owners also offer trekking itineraries in the hills.

Hoi An - Best for food

Direct flights operate from Hanoi to Danang and take 75mins. Hoi An is 29km south of Danang local buses take less than an hour.
Hoi
An is a small town that likes a big breakfast. As dawn musters strength
on the horizon, a small army of chefs sets to work on Thai Phien St,
firing up gas cookers and arranging plastic furniture on the pavements.
Soon,
the city awakes to sweet porridges; coffee that sends a lightning bolt
of caffeine to sleepy heads; sizzling steaks; broths that swim with
turmeric, chilli and ginger. In Vietnam, street food is a serious
business - a single dish prepared day after day by the same cook,
perfected and honed by a lifetime's craft.
"Food in Hoi An is
about yin and yang," explains Le Hanh, a young female chef scrutinising
vegetables at the morning market. "It's about balancing hot with cool,
sweet with sour, salty with spicy."
Carrying bags full of
shopping, Le Hanh leads me to her cooking school in a quiet backstreet
of Hoi An, where she quickly sets about chopping up green papayas and
grilling fish in banana leaves. Cooking in Hoi An goes big on
contrasting flavours; food that plays good cop/bad cop with the palate.
The
sharpness of fish sauce blends with the subtlety of fresh herbs; cool
lemongrass makes way for the eye-watering panic of accidentally chomping
on a red chilli.
Food tourism is nothing new to Hoi An.
Japanese, Chinese and European merchants sailed here in the 17th and
18th centuries, trading in silks and ceramics and making off with sacks
of spices, tea and sugar.
Still standing in the centre of the town
is a Chinese temple to Thien Hau, the Goddess of the Sea, with murals
of her guiding cargo ships home through stormy seas.
The port's
fortunes waned, and Hoi An has slipped into a state of graceful
dishevelment. Today, purple bougainvillea springs from mustard-coloured
warehouses where merchants once kept their goods, and the teak and
mahogany shutters creak on their hinges. Wire birdcages hang from the
branches of tropical almond trees pet pigeons, grackles and turtledoves
cooing and trilling inside.
The merchants who brought Hoi An its
fortune have departed, but their presence lingers on in the town's
gastronomy. Hanh reaches for a plate of cao lau, a noodle dish thought
to have been inherited from Japanese and Chinese merchants, but which
purists insist should only be made using water from a particular well in
a Hoi An backstreet. "In Hoi An, we cook food from all over the world,"
Hanh says.
"We just make it better."-- Learn to cook
Hanh
teaches at Gioan cooking school. Her students learn to cook the likes
of seafood hotpots, spring rolls, beef curries and banana pancakes.-- Where to eat
Set
in a French colonial building with an ornate facade, Lantern Town
Restaurant serves up numerous local specialities. The upstairs balcony
has waterfront views.-- Where to stay
Actually
nothing to do with the sport, the Golf Hoi An Hotel offers large rooms
with dark wood furniture, airconditioning and balconies overlooking a
central swimming pool.

Mekong Delta - Best for river life

Flights
operate from Danang to Ho Chi Minh City and take 75 minutes. An express
three-hour bus service runs from Mien Tay station in Ho Chi Minh to Can Tho, the largest city in the Mekong Delta.
A heavy rain is
falling on the Mekong Delta, flooding the footpaths, swilling in the
gutters, turning riverbank mud from light tan to a rich coffee colour.
In the villages, everybody runs for cover - men, women, infants, enough
animals to fill a farm: chickens, geese, dogs and cats, all scurrying
under iron-sheet roofs and looking up at a slate-grey sky. It's the
rainy season.
A tangled network of rivers, tributaries and
canals, the waters of the delta criss-cross the lowlands of southern
Vietnam before emptying into the South China Sea through mighty, yawning
estuaries. For centuries, life here has ebbed and flowed in tandem with
the current of the Mekong - an all-in-one launderette, bathtub,
highway, toilet, dishwasher, larder, social club and workplace for the
communities surrounded by its waters.
"If you live on a river
island with 20 other people you have to learn to get along with
everyone," says Mrs Bui Nguyen, beckoning strangers to shelter in her
bungalow beside the Cai Chanh canal. "That's the reason people in the
Mekong are so friendly."
A 77-year-old who attributes her
longevity to a lifetime avoiding doctors, Nguyen wistfully reflects on
the delta of old days when the only artificial light came from peanut
oil lamps dotted along the riverbanks, long before roads had reached the
villages.
Times have changed, but human life still instinctively
congregates on the water's edge. Lining the riverbank nearby are
grocers' shops, cafes, a gym, a billiards club and a blacksmith's, whose
owner makes kitchen utensils from helicopter parts left over from the
Vietnam War.
Floating markets, too, are still held every morning
at nearby Cai Rang, with creaking barges from across the delta bashing
into each other as they offload cargoes of watermelons, pineapples and
turnips.
The rain eases and the rhythm of delta life slowly
begins to gather pace - sampans cast free of their moorings, children
arrive home from school on ferry boats and mudskippers hop along the
riverbanks.
Downstream, the Mekong seems a place of Eden-like
abundance. Rafts of water hyacinth drift along in the current, spinning
in the eddies. On the riverbank are shady papaya groves, banana trees
bent double under the weight of their fruit and palms that seem to bow
deferentially to the boats that pass by.-- Where to stay and eat
A
popular option for travellers in the Mekong delta, homestays see guests
staying with local families and helping them cook dinner. One of the
best is the Hung Homestay, close to Can Tho, which offers hearty food
and simple bungalows set along a quiet riverbank. Excursions to the
floating market are also available.